


The Beginning

by doylesmom



Series: Gift Fics [7]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claude means well but he is Kinda Dumb sometimes, F/M, Giveaway fic, post game tournament arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylesmom/pseuds/doylesmom
Summary: “You will bring honor to your family name.” Vaida whispered to him in the language of the courts as she braided a strand of his hair for good luck. “You will bring fortune to your home.”“You will make yourself known in the halls of the elder gods,” Nader continued, strapping him into his armor, painted gold and black in the symbols of his forefathers. “And they shall find you worthy.”“You will outrun your fastest enemy,” his mother hummed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the circles under her own green eyes darker than he had ever remembered seeing them. “You will return to us, glorious and fresh with victory.”
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Gift Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554103
Comments: 27
Kudos: 80





	The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaidilute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaidilute/gifts).



> This fic was supposed to be 5000 words.
> 
> Oops.
> 
> Enjoy part one of four.

If the Tournament of Kings didn’t kill him, stress almost certainly would. Claude had always known stress, even in his youth, but these days the added pressure of the war in Fodlan, trying to unify three nations into one before even beginning to unify Fodlan with Almyra, and having to be separated from the love of his life despite having only reunited with her a few months earlier were all piling weight onto his shoulders that he could feel dragging and nagging at him, even as he was supposed to be sleeping. Oh, and add in the tournament he had to win to become the King of Almyra or else everything he had accomplished thus far would be for naught.

A loud snore shattered his train of thoughts.

He was glad to see that Nader, at least, was resting well. One of them deserved to get some sleep tonight.

Claude twirled the feather in his hand, watching it flutter in the night breeze that poured in from the open window by his desk. Owl feather quills were costly to import to Almyra, but he had grown accustomed to them in his years in Fodlan, and he found them less cumbersome than the wood-and-jewel quills his brothers preferred.

Another snore rumbled through the room, and Claude deliberated the merits of kicking his own bodyguard out while he finished reviewing his documents.

The one thing nobody told you about war was that winning it wasn’t the end. Not by far. 

It should have been easy. Unite Fodlan, cross the throat triumphantly, return to Almyra victorious and proud and claim the throne of his father for his own.

Reality, of course, had other ideas. And those ideas involved entirely too much paperwork. 

“He’s asleep?” Came a voice from the doorway, wry with amusement. Claude’s head jerked up, and he took in the frame of Vaida, Nader’s daughter and his most trusted advisor- so far- with a weary sigh.

“Yes, like the loudest baby I’ve ever heard.” Claude groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Really, it’s a wonder that I haven’t been offed yet by one of more daring relatives. With all of this commotion I doubt I’d notice their approach until it was too late and there was a knife already lodged in my throat.”

“A knife?” Vaida asked, quirking her brow as she swept into the room, securing the door behind her.

“Oh yes, I’m the only one cowardly enough to consider poison.” Claude smirked as he leaned back in his chair, gesturing for Vaida to take a seat on the other side of his desk. “The others are much more…”

“In your face?” She sniffed, sitting herself primly on the edge of the desk rather than the chair in front of it.

“I would say bold,” Claude shrugged, “But yes, that works too. Now, I doubt this is a social call. What is so important that you should find yourself in my office long past when you should have gone to bed?”

Vaida clucked her tongue as she pulled a set of- oh joy- more documents out from within her robes.

“You’re only two years older than me, Khalid-han,” she said as she handed them over. “Stop trying to baby me.”

“You’ll always be a cute baby sister to me, Vaida,” Claude chuckled, his birth name settling heavy on his skin like gilded shackles.

He skimmed over the pages before him with only mild interest, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in his eyes, as he knew Vaida would see through it anyways, and Vaida did not take kindly to deceptions. Each page contained information for him. Old injuries, known weaknesses, secret mistresses, bastard children, political leanings and alliances made.

Information to defeat his brothers, both on and off of the battlefield.

“Excellent work, Vaida.” He praised her.

“One more thing, Khalid-han.” Vaida glanced at her father’s still slumbering form before pulling out a small envelope from within the swathes of her skirt. “I intercepted this letter for you today. It came in on a common messenger hawk. You’re lucky I’m watching the mews, or else I have no doubts that one of your brothers would have gotten to it first.”

The envelope was cream colored, cool to the touch.

_ Claude von Riegan _

The envelope read.

_ Fifth Prince of Almyra _

Byleth’s handwriting.

Claude’s heart leapt in his chest, and his fingers nearly began to tremble as he tore the envelope open. The sight of his beloved, glorious and resplendent against the dawning sky burned across his memory, the heat of a barely there kiss lingered still against his lips.

_ Claude- _

__

_ I hope this letter finds you in good health. It has been two months since I saw you last, and yet it still feels as though every day I will wake up, walk into the mess hall in the monastery, and see you there, pouring over a map or laughing into a cup of tea as Lorenz and Hilda bicker. _

__

_ They’re not pleased with you, by the way. Something about you not telling them about being a prince. I hope it wasn’t a secret you were expecting to keep for too long. _

__

_ Lysithea thinks it’s hilarious. _

Claude snorted. Of course Lysithea would.

_ I cannot say if things are well here or not. I don’t know that I’ve ever truly had enough time in this new normal to say whether or not things are going well. Certainly it has been a productive time. Seteth still insists on his attempts to crown me as archbishop, but as you well know I find myself hesitant to lead a religion I have no knowledge of, and one that has harmed myself, my loved ones, and my family in the way that it has. I have my eye on some other recommendations for the position, but it will be a fight to get Seteth to listen to my thoughts. You know how he gets. _

Claude certainly did. The taciturn bishop could be bullheaded at best.

_ As my coronation fast approaches- how long does it take to plan these things, really?- I must wonder to myself, Claude, about many things we spoke about before you left. And many things we didn’t speak about as well. Forgive my impertinence, friend, but I must wonder- are all royal duties this dull? Of everyone you could have recommended for the position, why me? _

__

_ Will you be finished in Almyra in time to make it to my coronation? _

__

_ I have other things I wonder about too, but those are discussions best had in person, rather than in writing. _

__

_ I await your response. _

__

_ Yours, _

__

_ Byleth Eisner, incumbent Queen of Fodlan _

Claude found his eyes trailing over her signature, once, twice, three times. Like a lover’s caress he memorized every curve and angle, each blot and stroke.

By the eldest Gods, he missed her. He missed her wisdom, her quiet faith in him, the smell of her at his side as he schemed and plotted. Her small, secret smiles, and the way her eyes gleamed with emotion she could not quite show on her face.

“Burn this.” He said, handing the letter over to Vaida. “And be sure to keep an eye out for any more.”

“Will you send a response?” Vaida asked, pretending not to notice the way his fingers tightened around it for just a moment before letting her take the paper and envelope.

“No.” Claude sighed. “Not yet.”

* * *

“Tilt your chin up, please.” The painted drawled for what must have been the fiftieth time since their session had begun. “Thank you, Khalid-han.”

“Do you feel ridiculous?” Eliyas asked drily. “Because I feel ridiculous.”

“That is because you are ridiculous, brother.” Claude said, shooting his elder brother a mischievous look. Eliyas laughed at the statement, his dark curls bouncing with mirth as he moved. The painter clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Twenty minute break.” The painter said, dropping his brush with only a little bit of irritation. “And then I will be back.” He bowed as he exited the room, greying head bobbing until he disappeared from view.

Claude leaned back into the chair he sat in with a groan. Eliyas quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Not used to portraits, brother? I thought you said you had an artist friend. Surely he painted you once or twice.”

“The difference,” Claude said, lifting his hand to wave about airily, “Is that Ignatz knows better than to force people to stand in position for hours on end.”

“But you’re not standing-”

“You know damn well what I mean, Eliyas.” Claude grumbled, shooting his favorite brother a look. Eliyas shrugged.

“That’s just the way things are here, little brother.” He said affectionately, reaching out to tussle Claude’s hair. “You never did like it, did you, Khalid.”

“No, Eliyas, I didn’t.” Claude acknowledged. “But if I win this tournament, know this- the first person I’m firing is that painter.”

Eliyas laughed good naturedly.

“But first, brother, you have to win.” He reminded Claude, an eager look on his face. “Four challenges lie ahead of us still. And I hope you don’t think I’ll be rolling over for you like a puppy just because you’re my favorite brother.”

“Eliyas!” Claude gasped in mock offense. “Do you truly think so low of me?”

Eliyas said nothing for several long moments, simply eyeing Claude as he thought of his answer.

“No, Khalid.” He finally said. “I do not.”

* * *

The first task of the tournament began on the eighth day of the eighth month. Lucky numbers, an auspicious day. The elder gods would be smiling upon the future King, his father’s astrologer said, shooting a dirty look at Claude.

No surprise there. That man had had it out for him since his father had passed over the astrologist’s sister in order to marry Tiana.

Damn, but could Almyrans hold grudges.

They were dismissed back to their chambers to prepare for the ceremony, as the rest of Almyra celebrated in the streets below. Claude dismissed his servants, determined to dress himself for the occasion. 

Soon, a knock came at his door, and his court entered his room to finish preparing him for the first challenge.

“You will bring honor to your family name.” Vaida whispered to him in the language of the courts as she braided a strand of his hair for good luck. “You will bring fortune to your home.”

“You will make yourself known in the halls of the elder gods,” Nader continued, strapping him into his armor, painted gold and black in the symbols of his forefathers. “And they shall find you worthy.”

“You will outrun your fastest enemy,” his mother hummed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the circles under her own green eyes darker than he had ever remembered seeing them. “You will return to us, glorious and fresh with victory.”

Together they walked, small and strong and proud, to the reception hall, where King Javan looked over them.

“Go forth, my sons.” His father, weary with age, proclaimed over them all. “And prove to all of Almyra who is most fit to bear the weight of the crown of stars.”

* * *

The first test, it seemed, was one of popularity. In the crowded arena, filled normally with cheers for gladiators and wyvern races, all of Almyra seemed to have gathered to look down upon the five princes of the Sultan line, where one by glorious one they would enter the arena and be judged by their father’s council.

First went Arash, the eldest son. The very picture of his father, dressed in navy and silver as he strode into the ring, his beard glistening with oil and sapphires. The crowd cheered for him, the eldest child, the most favored of his father.

Then came Amin, the second son. Long and lean, he entered the arena with the grace of a dancer, light on his feet as he paraded about in silks of emerald and white. The crowd cheered for him, the scholar, the poet, beloved by the elders.

Eliyas, the third son, came next. His skin gleamed like copper in the sunlight, his yellow and green robes stitched in the image of a field of wheat, thick with crops and chattel. The crowd cheered for him, the courtesan, the people’s man.

Soon after was Kir, the fourth son. A crown of amethyst ringed his brow, and his wine colored garments were threaded with the finest of silver embroidery. He waved, the rings on his fingers gleaming in the sunlight, and the crowd cheered for him, the merchant, the trader.

And finally, finally, came Khalid, the youngest son. Dressed in crimson and gold and black he strode proudly into the arena, head held high despite the sudden silence of the gathered masses. The crowd did not cheer for him, but whispered to each other of the rumors of his doings and dealings in their neighboring nations. The schemer, the conqueror, the warrior son.

Claude came to a stop at his place at the end of the line, kneeling in the pristine sand, cleaned of all blood and excrement, before a raised dais whereupon his father and his advisors sat. King Javan raised a single hand from his throne, and the crowds fell silent. 

“It is known,” King Javan said, his voice carrying to all corners of the arena with ease, “That the new cannot be built without the foundation of the old. Even a flower must first rise from the dirt within which it is buried. As such, for this first trial, I have gathered my council, my most trusted advisors, the backbone of this grand kingdom of ours. Each of them shall give a vote to which of my sons they best believe will make the finest king of Almyra. The son of mine with the least amount of votes shall no longer be considered fit to rule. In the event of a tie, both sons shall be removed from these trials.

“Ministers, Councilors, Generals, Grand Mages.” King Javan turned his attention to the men who had served him honorably and well in his time as king. “Before you kneel the five jewels of Almyra. But at the new year, only one can be crowned the King of Stars, the King of Dragons, He Who Is Great In All Things. So now, I say to you: choose, and choose wisely. Our nation, our people, depend on you.”

King Javan put his hand down, and the Minister of Finance spoke first.

“I am the Minister of Finance,” spoke to the crowds. “I have thought long and hard, and I believe my decision is just. I choose Prince Kir, of the Rising Sun house.”

The finance minister sat down, and Claude ignored the lazy smile that crawled across Kir’s face. The Rising Sun family was wealthy, and their Prince a cumulation of that fortune. It was no wonder the Minister of Finance chose him. The Minister of Education rose next.

“I am the Minister of Education,” he announced. “I have thought long and hard, and I believe my decision is just. I cast my vote for Prince Amin, of the Dancing Serpent house.”

The education minister sat down, and Claude did his best to ignore the drop of sweat that beaded at his brow. Really, why had he agreed to wear full armor in the burning heat of midday? Surely he knew better than that. Perhaps his time spent in Fodlan had weakened him to the heats of his homeland.

“I am the Minister of Foreign Affairs.” Stately and greying, the minister was one of the oldest in his father’s retinue. “I have thought long and hard and I believe my decision is just. I cast my vote for Prince Khalid, of the Gilded Buck house.”

Shocked murmurs tore through the crowd, and Claude found himself acutely aware of thousands of eyes upon his still kneeling form. Though he could not see it, and he dared not lift his head and check, he could sense the simmering rage of Arash, the silent judgement of Amin, the amusement of Eliyas, the apathy of Kir. 

On and on the ministers and generals and councilors and mages that made up his father’s most inner circle cast their votes. Three votes to Arash, two more to Amin, and one to Eliyas. By the time the sun above reached its zenith, only one member of the council had yet to speak, to cast his deciding vote. If he chose any of his brothers, Claude would be out of the running for king. If he was not chosen, Claude would fail.

Byleth, beautiful, joyful, her hair blowing in the breeze, flashed before his eyes. Just as quickly she was gone, leaving only the scent of desperation and camellias, and the taste of salt and sand in his mouth.

The Royal Astrologer stepped forward.

“I am the Royal Astrologer.” He said, folding his hands together. “I have consulted the stars, and I bear their message, just as I have done for every birth, death, wedding, and battle since I first was appointed, forty years ago. The stars are wise, and just, and they have told me of my decision. My vote goes to Prince Khalid, of the Gilded Buck house.”

The Royal Astrologer took his seat, and the crowd began cheering once more.

Four princes rose from the sand in which they kneeled.

Claude thanked every elder god he could name that his knees did not buckle.

Prince Kir cursed, his rings blinding in the light.

* * *

Hilda was the first to arrive at his court, her brother in tow as the Almyran King welcomed, for the first time since his wedding, a Fodlani delegation. She brought with her a retinue of Fodlani servants, enough luggage to fill an entire guest room, and a letter from Byleth.

“She sends her love, too, but I’m  _ not _ about to give you that.” Hilda sniffed, tossing the envelope to Claude. “Now, tell me about these challenges I’ve been hearing about.”

Desperation licked through his veins, but Claude tucked the letter away to read when he could be alone. Instead, he beckoned for his oldest Fodlani friend to follow him as they traversed the halls of his childhood home.

“The King of Almyra has five sons, four of them from consorts from four of the greatest families in Almyra. I, of course, am the fifth. He cannot just announce his favorite as his heir, that would be like picking a favorite family, which the others would not stand for. Instead, we must prove our worth by completing a series of challenges to prove who is most fit to be the next king. The King designs the challenges, so they change with every coronation. My father, King Javan, had to battle his own brothers for five days straight. He was the last one standing, and thus my grandfather named him the new king of Almyra.” Claude snorted. Grandfather had been a war obsessed asshole. Of course he would find a days long battle to be the best determination of leadership.

“Sounds exhausting.” Hilda said.

“Ah, it is indeed,” chimed a silvery smooth voice from down the hall. Claude halted, and Hilda came to a stop as well, as though sensing his discomfort. Amin approached, graceful and cunning, his eyes drinking in Hilda and the curve of her waist. “Luckily for us we are allowed small comforts in the time between our trials- rest, drink, our choice of company.”

Hilda quirked a brow at his blatant flirtation, and Claude was torn between letting her play delicate maiden, or letting her rip his brother’s face off.

“You would have me keep you company?” She simpered, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Oh, yes,” Amin agreed, not noticing how close he came to knocking upon the door of death herself. “I would love to learn more about Fodlan. Our rivals for so long, now suddenly declaring peace. How interesting the new Queen must be.”

“Hmm, I wonder.” Hilda said drily, shooting an imperceptible glance at Claude, who forced himself to relax his fingers from their curled fists.

“I hear she’s quite the beauty, too. Not to mention unwed, and unbetrothed, even.” Amin continued, blithely unaware of his impending doom. “Khalid, you spent some time in Fodlan, yes? Tell me, have you met her? Do you think she’d be amenable to more, ah, intimate peace talks?”

“Oh, look at the time!” Hilda crowed as Claude’s vision swam white with incandescent rage. “You must excuse us, your highness, but Khalid-han is escorting me to my brother, and if we aren’t on time I fear for how he may react. Surely you understand, as an elder brother yourself.”

Before Amin could respond, Hilda was dragging Claude away, her superior strength and terrifying aura preventing Claude from murdering his brother in cold blood. They turned the corner, and Hilda shoved him into the nearest room, quickly locking the door behind them.

“Compose yourself, von Riegan, or I’ll do it for you.” She growled, whirling on him with all the fury of a disappointed friend. 

“Byleth is  _ mine _ , Hilda.” He snarled, his fury seeping out of him like a noxious fog, thick and blinding. “How dare he. How dare he!”

With a roar Claude turned and slammed his fist against the wall, only barely registering the crack of plaster beneath his hand.

“Claude,” Hilda said, her voice low and soothing, “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean ‘what am I talking about’?” Claude hissed. “I’m talking about how my  _ brother _ was speaking about  _ my fiancée- _ ”

“Your  _ what _ ?” Hilda nearly shouted. “Claude, explain!”

“I proposed to Byleth before I left for Almyra!” Claude snapped, whirling to face Hilda. He paused for a moment, drinking in her face as she went from shock to confusion to concern.

“Claude,” Hilda began slowly, holding her hands up in a placating manner, “Are you absolutely certain about that?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, his voice suddenly soft as icy terror gripped his heart, unease washing through his stomach like tossing waves.

“Byleth isn’t engaged to anyone, Claude.” Hilda said quietly, hesitatingly. “It came up in a meeting. Seteth asked if she had any existing relationships that he needed to know about, and she told him no. She told all of us no.”

A beat.

Two.

Claude felt something within his chest shatter, the echo of it ringing through his ears and overtaking everything in him until all he could do was stand there, dumb and mute, and listen.

“Ok, stop spiraling, I can see you spiraling.” Hilda tutted, leading Claude almost blindly to a nearby chair. He half fell onto the seat, his mind churning as it tried to process what Hilda had told him.

Byleth had… denied him? In front of an audience, no less? Surely there was a mistake, a misunderstanding.

“I don’t understand.” He croaked, a burning sensation stinging at the corner of his eyes. “I proposed the morning I left for Almyra. We exchanged rings.”

His hand rose shakily to grasp at the leather cord around his neck upon which the ring Byleth had given him hung.

“Wh… Hilda, I-”

“Ok,” Hilda soothed, reaching out to grasp his arm. Her hand was small, but it was warm and grounding, and Claude found himself thanking the elder gods that she had forced her friendship on him so many years ago. “Something isn’t right, then. Claude, I need you to tell me everything that happened. And I mean everything, ok?”

Claude nodded, took a deep, centering breath, and began.

He told Hilda everything. He told her of a boy’s fascination with a beautiful stranger, of nights spent crowded over maps and afternoons spent over tea, of a boy learning to trust. He told her of friendship, a night spent talking at the goddess tower, and a near loss. He told her how the boy realized that he couldn’t go on without her. How he swore to himself that his friendship would never get in the way of his goals and dreams, and how despite himself he found that picturing the future without her was nigh impossible.

He told Hilda about watching her fall.

He spoke of grief and pain, of weeks spent searching for a body that he never found. He spoke of the hope that still sang through his veins in an unending refrain, despite the funeral, despite the pitying looks, despite so many moving on. He spoke of growing and learning, of bad days and long nights and how on the worst of them he fell asleep to the thought of her, and how in the mornings after he felt as though everything made sense. He spoke of a promise made to a friend- dead or not- to do better, be better.

And then came the part that Hilda knew. The part where she came back from wherever it was that she had gone, bedraggled, hollow cheeked, but bright eyed and sharp minded as ever. The part where he saw her again for the first time in five long, long years and realized like a crash of thunder that what he felt for her was more than friendship. So much more. The part where every day he fought not to shout his feelings for her from the highest of monastery rooftops, where each smile and laugh and secret joke shared slowly stitched back something inside of him that he hadn’t realized had been torn away.

Finally, he explained what happened those last few nights in Fodlan. How he had resigned himself to his fate, as her friend and nothing more. A fate that hurt, that cut, but that he could not regret so long as she stayed in his life in some way. How he had found her, late one night, hunched over a desk and how when he had entered the room she lit up with the glow of a thousand suns and he knew in that moment that he had to at least try. How he had gone back to his room, dug through a box of trinkets that his mother had sent him months before, and pulled out the ring that had been laying at the very bottom, as though Tiana had known from so far away what her son would soon need. How he had climbed the endless stairs to the top of the Goddess tower at dawn, just hours before he could no longer put off leaving, and had displayed for her the entirety of his broken, mangled, torn apart and put back together soul. 

How she had given him a ring of his own.

How he had kissed her, warm and soft and full of promises for an even greater future than they ever could have imagined.

How hea had flown away with tears stinging at his eyes, but hope swelling in his heart.

Hilda listened. She listened and nodded and hummed and gasped and finally, finally, groaned.

“Claude you absolute moron,” She dug her fingers into his arm, the sharp point of them pricking him even through his padded sleeves. “That was not a proposal!”

Claude blinked.

“What?” He asked, his voice raw from what felt like hours of confessions.

“Claude, look me in the eyes right now.” Hilda commanded, her voice serious as he had ever heard it. He shifted in his seat, and met her pink eyes. “Did you at any point ask her ‘will you marry me’? In those exact words, Claude?”

A beat.

Two.

“By the gods,” Claude breathed, his heart plummeting in his chest, “I didn’t propose.”

Hilda sighed heavily, as only a best friend about to fix a major screw up could.

“I’m calling in backup.” She told him, finally letting go of his arm as she stood up. “Obviously you can’t handle this alone.”

Claude pondered for a moment if it would be worth protesting.

“Oh please,” Hilda scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I know how to be discreet.”

Somehow, that was far, far, far from comforting.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/tzubakis/)


End file.
